


Not Accustomed To Tragedy

by somebody_to_love4



Category: Clone High
Genre: 5 Stages of Grief, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, i wrote this on my school computer rip, jfk is supernatural, jfk is the best character, ponce dying made me cry, vomit warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebody_to_love4/pseuds/somebody_to_love4
Summary: When JFK’s best friend dies, he goes through the five stages of grief at different rates.
Relationships: JFK & Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High), JFK/Abraham Lincoln (Clone High)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 130





	1. Stage 1: Denial

JFK lay on his bed, his argument with Ponce running through his head. They had been walking through the school, after taking their lunch period to visit the local gas station and picking up the chocolates they both adored. Ponce had begun to express his feelings of existential dread, citing that life was short and that there was no fountain of youth. JFK had gotten mad, calling him a “sissy broad” and telling Ponce that he was dead to him. Ponce had told JFK that he hated him, but tried to apologize quickly after. JFK was already gone, stomping away in anger. 

If that’s really how Ponce felt about him then fine. Maybe he really had gotten that “two peas in a pod” tattoo for nothing. He didn’t need Ponce, and he didn’t need his stupid feelings either. Everyone knew that JFK was straight, so there was no place for his fantasies about Ponce in his brain. JFK wasn’t going to be like his dads, he was going to be like the real John F. Kennedy, a sexy man who got loads of women. 

A knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts. Both of his dads walked in, wearing a matching grim look. JFK’s stomach did a flip-flop; his dads never came into his room. Wally sat to his left, and Carl sat to his right. 

“Oh honey,” Wally cooed, as they both hugged him tightly. JFK sat, stunned, for a moment before he shrugged both of them off and stood, facing them. “What’s this about?” He demanded.

“Did you not hear?” Carl said, making eye contact with his husband. Wally just shrugged, and they both turned their attention back to their foster son. 

Wally patted the spot next to him. “Honey, you’ll need to sit down.” Shaking slightly, JFK did so.

“It’s Ponce,” Carl said, making eye contact with him. “He’s dead.”

At first, JFK didn’t respond. His eyes had gotten glassy, and he sat stock-still. Wally rubbed his back, while Carl tried to get his attention again. Slowly, robotically, he got up and walked into the bathroom that connected to his bedroom. JFK felt like he was not in control, just watching himself move. 

He felt himself kneel down and felt the hot vomit that filled his throat and mouth. He watched the brown liquid fill the white bowl. He just kept throwing up, no matter how much he tried to stop it. 

His vomiting turned clear, then JFK was reduced to dry-heaving. Shakily, he stood up, walking to his sink. He took a few small sips of water, just enough to clean his mouth of the hot bile. Once he was done, he walked back into the room where his dads were.

Wally and Carl just stared at him. He looked like hell, his face pale and his lips irritated. He coughed, and it just sounded painful. Their hearts swelled with sympathy for their boy. 

Oblivious to their concern, JFK started laughing. What an elaborate joke! He’s going to walk outside, and Ponce will scare him from behind a bush. He’s so crazy, he even got his dads in on it! JFK knew he liked Ponce before, but now he was sure he loved him. Ponce was always talking about death, it was just a joke, JFK was sure.

Wally and Carl were shocked when JFK started outright laughing. He was slapping his knee, and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. They got really worried when he began to reach for the telephone, in order to call his friend and tell him what a good prank he pulled.

JFK only stopped laughing after the beep. He became frantic, hanging up and dialing Ponce’s number again. When no one answered, he sunk to the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Ponce was really dead.

And JFK had killed him.


	2. Stage 2: Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll notice that some things are different from the actual episode, and that’s so that things flow better and are more dramatic. Anyway, thanks for reading!

“GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!” JFK screamed, startling his foster dads. Carl grabbed Wally by the shoulders, pulling him away from their son. The two left, whispering to each other. 

On the floor, JFK curled up into a little ball, pulling at his hair. The pain at his scalp seemed to be the only thing grounding him. After a couple of minutes, he flipped onto his stomach, using his fists to pound the carpet below him. When he realized that it was ineffective at getting his inner turmoil out, he stood.

JFK walked over to his bed, moving to stand on top of it. He stepped so that he was within arm’s length of the bright blue wall. Bringing his fist back, he wound up, and let his fist fly.

The wall beneath his fist broke with a satisfying crack. A small hole, about four inches in diameter was left behind. Calmly, JFK put up a small flag with “CHHS” on it in order to cover up the hole. While it was a good way to get rid of his anger, Carl would not do well to see it. 

JFK began to punch and throw and scream at everything in his room. It was unfair, and SOMETHING deserved to pay. At one point during his tantrum, Wally came up to offer him dinner, but he was ignored and threatened by JFK’s inner turmoil. 

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Why the hell did Ponce have to go and die? Didn’t he know JFK needed him? When he sees Ponce again, he is going to beat the crap out of him and kiss him. He held on tight to Ponce’s silk pants (gifted to him in his will), and ugly cried, snot and tears mixing disgustingly. Finally, after being thoroughly physically and emotionally exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep. 

The next day was the funeral. JFK, along with Glen (Ponce’s foster dad), had been invited to give eulogies. When he arrived at school, he stopped by Ponce’s locker, dropping off a large bouquet of roses that he picked from his dads’ backyard garden. His eyes were red and puffy, and he stomped all the way to the gymnasium, where the ceremony was being held.

Glen’s eulogy was beautiful. It was an amazing tribute to Ponce, about all the joy he gave everyone while he was alive. He was rudely stopped by the principal, to go attend to his duties. As they walked away, JFK realized that it was his turn. Cleopatra, who had been sitting to his left, gave him a smile and a pat on the arm. He took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty hands on Ponce’s pants, and walked up to the front.

JFK turned to face the crowd. “Ponce de Leon was my best friend. We’d been together through thick and thin. He even left me these pants…” As JFK grabbed a hold of the silky material, he began to look around and really digest everything around him. Ponce’s coffin. The flowers. The podium. The students. JFK got mad.

“PONCE I KNOW YOUR’E NOT REALLY DEAD! STAND UP OR I’LL SOCK YOU!” JFK screamed, lifting up Ponce’s lifeless body by the lapels and shaking him slightly. When Ponce didn’t respond, JFK watched himself let go with one hand, curl it into a fist and punch his best friend in the face. He was so startled by the coldness of his skin, that he dropped the body, causing it to fall out of the coffin.

Everyone gasped, and JFK made eye contact with Cleopatra in particular. Her eyes were wide, and her hand was covering her mouth. His own eyes widened, as he realized what he had done. Tears rolling down his face, he bent down to touch Ponce, but stopped himself short. “I just killed my best friend,” he whispered. “I JUST KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!” 

JFK set him down again, before opening the coffin all the way. He set Ponce back down, before climbing into the coffin with him. JFK closed the coffin on top, the darkness giving a cruel sense of comfort. He wrapped his arms around Ponce, ignoring the coldness, and cried. He didn’t care about the students. He didn’t care about his reputation. All he wanted was to be with Ponce. 

Ponce was alive! He was alive and well and he was kissing JFK! He was holding him and reassuring him that everything was okay! Ponce was alive!

Ponce was dead. He was dead and cold. JFK looked up to see his dads, opening the coffin to let the light in. They both watched him with a concerned look on their faces. JFK looked down at the dead body in his arms and screamed.


	3. Stage 3: Bargaining

JFK was alone in the small Catholic church, soft light filtering through the colored windows. His foster parents never took him to church, but he went by himself on holidays like Christmas and Easter. Whenever he was in Mass, he always felt closer to his real dad, and it always made him feel comforted. 

Now, when he felt desperate and alone, he turned to God. As he stepped up to the altar, his footsteps reverberated around the room, making him more self-conscious. Checking behind him, he ensured that there was no one else around. He kneeled, placing his hands in front of him and pressed them together. He took a deep breath, and began.

“Um...err….God? Are you there?” 

No response. 

“It’s JFK...I come to Mass every once in a while..?”

Crickets. JFK was starting to get angry. 

“Listen up, pretty boy! I didn’t come all the way down here to be ignored!”

JFK’s voice reverberated throughout the empty halls. 

“YOU TOOK HIM! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” He yelled, pointing up at the statue in front of him. He screamed and pounded his fists, until he ran out of energy. 

He rolled into the fetal position, rocking himself back and forth. “It’s my fault. Why did you take him? If only I had been a better friend. If only I had been more caring. If only I had told him how I felt. Then this wouldn’t have happened. He’d still be alive, and I wouldn’t have killed him.” He sat there for a couple minutes longer, than pulled himself back up into the kneeling position.

JFK made the cross on his chest, his finger just lightly touching his skin. “Dear God...look I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ll make you a deal. If you bring Ponce back, I swear I’ll go to church everyday. I’ll tell my dads what they’re doing is wrong! I’ll even repent of banging all those chicks! Please God, you gotta bring him back! Please!” 

He was begging. He probably looked pathetic. But he needed to feel some kind of control after his whole life and been ripped out from under him. 

The church hall stayed silent. JFK finally got up, brushed off his khakis, and began to walk out of the building.

When he got outside, he realized that it was late afternoon. He put his hands in his pockets and began to walk home. He walked slowly, due to pure exhaustion. He’d been feeling that a lot lately.

“Do not pray for an easy life, son, pray to be a stronger man.” The voice was quiet, so quiet it was almost missed.

JFK turned around, stopping. There was no one behind him, and the streets to the sides were empty. After scanning the area thoroughly, he began to walk again.

“Let everyone know, whether they wish you well or ill, that you will pay any price, bear any burden, and meet any hardship.” The voice was louder, and eerily familiar. 

JFK shivered, and picked up his pace. It was still light out, but he wanted to get home as soon as possible. 

“Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past are certain to miss the future.” 

The young boy began to run, running all the way home to his dads.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i’m actually so confused??? this has like blown up (at least by my standards) like wth? i love y’all so much xoxo


	4. Stage 4: Depression

JFK had not gone to school in weeks. He stayed huddled up in his room, refusing to leave. Meals were passed to him under the door, and his homework remained untouched in his backpack. All he could do was lay in his bed, wallowing in his sorrow. There were plenty of things that needed done, but he felt no motivation whatsoever to do them. 

One night, as he was just about to fall asleep, he heard a soft creaking noise. He sat up, still fully clothed, and moved to the edge of the bed. JFK reached up to turn his light on, but almost stumbled over when he saw who was at the door.

“Cheer up, friend. It’s not your fault.” Ponce’s voice, the one he had been missing for so long, finally rang through his head. 

“OH MY GOD! You’re a g-g-g-g-DEAD GUY!” JFK exclaimed, truly loosing his balance this time.

Ponce walked over to him, holding his hand out. Ponce helped JFK up, before moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “No, I’m not a ghost. I’m part of your subconscious.”

JFK sat next to him, the bed creaking under their weight. “I knew you weren’t dead Ponce-o! Let’s go score some chicks!” He stood again, grabbing his friend’s wrists and pulling them to no avail. Ponce’s wrists were warm and bony like he remembered.

“No, JFK, you don’t understand. I’m just a figment of your imagination.” Ponce’s voice was soothing, calm and level as ever. JFK’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “So...are you really dead?”

“Yes,” Ponce answered. 

“Oh.” JFK said, visibly deflated. Just as quickly, he perked back up again. “You’re my genie!”

Frustrated, Ponce stood. “No! I’m not a genie.” 

JFK ignored him anyway. “For my first wish, I want my dead friend back!” He closed his eyes tight, waiting for some kind of sign. When he grew bored, he opened his eyes again to see Ponce in front of him, healthy as ever. “Ponce, you’re back! I missed you buddy!”

He visibly took a deep breath, possibly to calm himself. “No, JFK. I’m not. Listen. If you want to honor me, or my memory, than you need to move on. I appreciate it, I really do, but you need to move on with your life. You can’t spend forever mourning me. You deserve to be happy.”

JFK looked at him, eyes brimming with tears. “No, you don’t understand. I killed you! I deserve to be miserable!”

“No you didn’t! Litter killed me, JFK.” 

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” JFK yelled, clamping his hands over his ears. “What do you know? You’re just in my head!” His eyes squeezed tight, and he curled into the fetal position. 

He heard no response, which was curious to him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself alone. 

He laid on the floor, unable to get up or move. He was sad, yes, but no tears came out. He just felt numb. Time passed, but JFK had no knowledge of it. 

Finally, he gathered the energy to get up. He sluggishly pulled on his shoes, popped on his sweater, and headed out the front door. He carried nothing with him, only his resolve. 

JFK walked down the street, observing the suburban neighborhood. All the people living in the houses were oblivious to his distress. Not that they would care, anyway. 

After the neighborhood was the small patch of woods. It was silent, the only sound crunching leaves under his feet and crickets. The dark was oppressive, but JFK felt calm. No fear was present. 

Finally, after a couple minutes of walking, he arrived at his destination. The lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses xoxo


	5. Stage 5: Acceptance

The moon shone brightly, lighting up the whole lake. JFK sat on a small wooden dock, looking over the body of water. It was peaceful, the only sounds being from himself or some birds nesting in the trees around him. It was early fall, the leaves just beginning to change colors. It was still warm out, though, warm enough that he was getting hot in his rugby shirt.

JFK began to disrobe, stripping down to his underwear. He neatly folded his shirt, pants, shoes and socks on the dock. He began to walk away from the edge, before turning around to run and jump into the lake.

The water was warm still from the heat of the day. It was crystal clear, showing the different kinds of aquatic wildlife that lived there. JFK kicked to the surface, taking a breath of air. He flipped over onto his back, just so he could sit there and float. 

The gentle rocking of the waves allowed JFK to have some kind of peace. It was something that he could focus on (at least for the time being), that would distract him from his pain. While he was alone, the only sound being the water in his ears, he began to truly reflect on what Ponce had said to him. 

While Ponce was right about JFK needing to move on, he just didn’t want to. He felt as if he stopped mourning him, than Ponce would be forgotten forever. Moving on would entail JFK accepting that his friend was dead, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. 

“JFK?” 

A voice rang out, startling him. JFK flinched, accidentally pulling himself underwater and breathing some in. He popped back up, coughing and sputtering. On shore, he could see a figure, tall and lanky. Though he had a good guess of who it was, he still swam over to investigate further. 

“JFK? Are you alright?” It was Abe, his voice and expression laced with concern. 

“I’m fine. What are you doing here?” JFK asked, stepping out of the water, dripping wet. He felt a little self-conscious of his nakedness, but made no physical indication of it. 

“I was just walking through the woods when I heard splashing, so I came to check it out.” Abe was watching him closely, calculating. He observed Kennedy’s huge eye bags, his pale face, and his exhausted body language. He looked like death. 

Abe’s heart filled with sympathy for the young man. It had been a rough couple of weeks for everyone, sure, but JFK took it the worst. He hadn’t been at school, and quite frankly, it had been worrying. Even though they weren’t the best of friends, fighting over Cleo, Abe still felt that he had the responsibility to keep an eye on JFK. 

Heart overflowing with sympathy and pity, Abe shuffled forward and pulled the almost-naked JFK into a hug. He was wet and cold, the night’s cool taking a toll on him. His goosebumps were rough against Abe’s skin, and he shivered slightly. 

After a couple of seconds, JFK pushed his chest, effectively separating them. “Let go! What the hell was that?”

Abe suddenly became very sheepish. “I don’t know...you looked like you needed one.” JFK gaped at him, his confusion embroidered by anger. “What do you know, huh?”

Abe held his hands up in surrender. “I know Ponce was important to you. I just wanted to help.”

JFK became furious, getting up close in Abe’s face. “I don’t need help! I don’t need YOUR help! I’m a Kennedy!...I’m a Kennedy...I am a Kennedy.” His bright anger quickly turned into dull sadness, and he began to step backwards. Realization and shock was written all over his face. 

It was very obvious he was trying not to cry. He didn’t blink, sported a thousand-yard stare, and tried to calm his breathing. But his shaking lip and red eyes gave him away. 

Again, Abe felt a massive wave of sympathy. He pulled JFK in for a hug again, and this time he did not resist. He began to cry, shaking softly. Abe felt spots where his shirt became wet with water and mucus, but he didn’t mind. 

After a while, JFK sniffled and began to speak. “I’m a Kennedy! I’m not accustomed to tragedy.” His voice was desperate, breaking in places. Abe remained silent, a steady rock of support and comfort. 

“You know the last thing Ponce said to me? He said, ‘I hate you’.” JFK looked up at Abe, his eyes pleading. 

“Oh yeah? Well you wanna know the last thing he told me?” JFK nodded silently. “He said you were a good dude and a great friend.”

A ghost of a smile appeared. “Really? Ponce-y said that?” Abe nodded in response. 

JFK wiped the tears from his eyes. 

Abe continued. “Let’s not let Ponce die in vain. We should learn from this and move on. Ponce would’ve wanted it that way.”

JFK chuckled slightly. “He said something about that. I saw him recently, he’s a genie now.”

Ignoring his statement, Abe went into the dock to grab JFK’s discarded clothing. When he got back, he gave JFK a kiss on the head. “It’ll be okay.”

JFK looked at his deltoid, where his tattoo was. Ponce’s face smiled back up at him, and for the first time in a while, he smiled back. Even though Ponce was gone, he still lived in JFK’s memories. He would miss him, sure, but everything was going to be alright. He would do it, for Ponce’s sake. It wasn’t gonna be easy, but he could do it. He was a Kennedy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnddd its done! I want to thank everyone who read, gave kudos, commented, etc. I love you all! This was just a dumb idea I had at midnight while I was watching Clone High, but I had a lot of fun writing it. I’m kinda sick of watching that episode, though.
> 
> Here’s a reddit post that I found that I think goes really well with the story. It’s not mine, just FYI 
> 
> https://www.reddit.com/r/clonehigh/comments/j0tv3k/i_made_another_edit/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf


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